The Lost Soul
by RikiTiki
Summary: Whatever did happen to Father Callahan after his encounter with Barlow? Is he beyond redemption? Oneshot as of now, but might expand if there is enough interest.


**AN: Recently I finished a reading of Salem's Lot by the incomparable Stephen King and as the characters wondered what had happened to Father Callahan I realized that I knew what had happened. Here is that start of the good father's journey back from the brink of madness and damnation. **

**Needless to say I do not own Salem's Lot, nor do I own the characters which are the brain child of Mr. King. **

The Lost Soul

The man walked backward along route 5, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and his thumb pointed toward heaven. This aimless drifter had a past, as all nameless drifters do, but this man, when he had been anyone had been a priest called Callahan. Neatly folded in the depths of his knapsack was the tools of his former trade, everything except his rosary, and that was forever lost to him.

A kicky little sports car drove past, the man formerly Father Callahan did not follow it with his eyes as it passed. The eyes wide and soulful seemed not to see the road. His clear blue gaze was fixed on the distance and in the past.

He sighed; if no one stopped soon he would have to find a decent patch of ground to make camp on. He didn't like doing this, it made him feel too much a beast to sleep exposed to the elements, and the harsh light of the sun made him sick with shame and pain. Still it would not be the first time, how many days had he passed huddled under a tree sleeping in the wilderness since fleeing Jerusalem's Lot?

No, he corrected desperately, he had not fled the Lot. He had not abandoned his friends in their hour of greatest need. He had lost the fight, and defeated he had slunk away, his friends needed righteousness on their side and he was tainted.

Callahan remembered all too well, Barlow had challenged him to cast aside the image of Callahan's god, to cast it aside and fight with faith alone. He couldn't do it, and Barlow had torn the crucifix from his hand, then laughing Barlow had held him down, tearing open his own wrist and pressing it to Callahan's mouth, forcing him to swallow the fetid liquid that poured forth.

Barlow had abandoned him there. Callahan had vomited copiously, but he still felt the corruption spread through his system. He had walked into the wilderness and waited for the sun to consume him, and as he did this Callahan prayed. Destruction did not come, but the hunger had. Not hunger for human blood as Barlow suffered, but another deeper hunger that could not be defined, but also could not be denied.

He had not eaten since that night, nothing would stay down, yet he did not starve. He had laid on the cold ground for many nights and yet he did not freeze, but the rays of the sun burned his eyes and made him nauseous.

He had fought the Devil and the Devil had won.

He had kept walking, no aim, no destination, just a need to escape the site of his fall. At first he simply put miles between him and the Lot, finally stumbling on a town, the name of which he did not know. It didn't matter, all that did matter was an unassuming building located on a discreet corner along main street.

Callahan felt his pulse quicken as he mounted the steps. He trembled as he touched the metal of the door. It was near noon and it took all of his strength to pull open the door and stumble inside. To his right was the aspersorium. He forced hi feet to move toward it, he braced himself against the marble and dipped a finger into the water within.

The water did not erupt in steam, not bubbles boiled up in response to his touch, but it burned him all the same. Trembling horribly he forced his finger still wet to the skin on his forehead, then to his chest, then one shoulder, and finally the other in the sign of the cross. Callahan fell to his knees fighting back the urge to vomit.

He sat with his back to the cold marble of the font, eyes closed, breathing heavily, and trying to master himself.

"Sir?"

Callahan opened his eyes, a young priest stood over him.

"Good day Father," he managed with a wry cynical smile.

"Can I help you?"

This time Callahan laughed, though there was no humor in the laugh.

"No Father, I don't believe you can."

"Are you sure? You look like a man with troubles weighing heavy on his soul."

"I am that Father, I am that."

"Are you Catholic?"

"Yes."

"Then my son would you like me to hear your confession so that you may be cleansed?"

"Thank you Father but I am beyond the ability of Confession to cleanse."

"No child of God is beyond redemption, make your confession in the spirit of contrition and find peace returned to you."

"That's just it Father, I am not contrite. I fought the fight but in my moment of greatest need God abandoned me. He left me to the Devil, and now I gaze at the image of Christ and am filled with hate."

"How did God abandon you?"

Callahan knew that there were tears in his eyes, he brushed them away and looked up into the concerned face of the young priest.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course."

Wickedness flared like a sunburst in Callahan's chest and propelled him to his knees. He wanted to see the innocent face of the young man before him contorted in a mask of doubt.

_Oh God_, the thought,_ have I fallen so far as to wish my fall from grace on the innocent?_

Callahan heard a voice that he knew to be his saying words he did not wish it to say.

"Do you truly believe yourself to be a man of faith?"

"With my whole heart."

"We shall see," Callahan reached his hand out to the priest, "may I hold your rosary?"

The priest pulled the string of beads from around his neck and held it out to Callahan. Callahan smiled inwardly as the priest held out the crucifix in an unconscious gesture if warding. He smiled as he reached out and touched the wood and metal. As his flesh came into contact with the image a feeling that he had never felt before and could never afterward describe shot through his whole body. It was as though the very veins and tendons that snaked their way through his body had burst into whit hot flame.

Callahan cried out in pain and released the symbol. He felt sweat run down his face and onto the floor as he bent double in pain. Between gasps for air Callahan managed to say to the priest.

"You are a man of your word, a true man of faith."

The priest looked down on the sweating trembling figure still hunched in front of him, whose frame now shook with mingled sobs and mad laughter.

"Dios mio," the priest whispered in his native lounge, then crossed himself and backed away.

It was sometime later that Callahan managed to drag himself to his feet and shuffle out of the church. He had been walking ever since.

A big eighteen wheeler pulled off the road, the driver's side window rolled down and a booming voice called from the cab.

"Where ya headed Mac?"

"Anywhere but here."

"That's where I'm going, climb on in."

Callahan ran around the truck, pulled open the passenger door and climbed in.

As they pulled back onto the asphalt Callahan hoped that the others had defeated Barlow, that they had saved the Lot, and that they had found their path to grace. He smiled a little as the wheels pulled him farther from his past, maybe somewhere ahead he could find his own road back to salvation.


End file.
